Blog and ye’ shall receive! A couple of months ago I blogged about a Kelly Clarkson concert that started and ended well beyond my bedtime. I specifically requested early start times for artist whose target market is 30+ years old. The music gods (and goddesses too… no anti-feminist vibes coming from this direction) granted me my wish! On Saturday Steve and I went to see MC Hammer, Gin Blossoms and Pat Benatar and, get this, the concert started at 4:45pm. HOLY BLISS …my prayers had been answered!

It all began mid-week when my husband let me know that Gin Blossoms, MC Hammer and Pat Benatar would be sharing one stage. I let out a school girl yelp (who wouldn’t??!). For a girl whose youth expanded the 80’s and 90s, these three bands all playing on one stage in one night early evening was guaranteed to be eargasmic. I told Steve that we HAD to go and when he rolled his eyes I may or may not have promised to pick up all the dirty clothes I had scattered across the master bedroom floor. After he purchased the tickets, I didn’t may or may not have followed through on my promise, but whose counting broken promises? (hopefully not Steve).

I had so much prepping to do before the concert. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve practiced my “Too Legit to Quit” hand motions?? I started to stress and then grew worrisome…. What if I couldn’t tease my bangs high enough? Does anybody still sell Aqua Net? Could my dream of Hammer serenading “Have you seen her? Tell me have you seen her?” to me actually come true?

When the moment came, I was not disappointed. The music started and five young ladies wearing all white appeared on stage like gangsta’angels from da’ hood yo’! And then…Stop! Hammer time…he appeared. The crowd was on their feet. And let me tell you something…Hammer has still got it. “It” is slightly slower than “it” used to be in his younger days and I imagine he had a lot of stretching to do before displaying his signature dance moves. But “it” was still hot.

Pat Benatar’s live voice is amazing and Gin Blossoms rocked. But mostly, it was nice being transported back to early 90’s for a few hours when life was a simpler time and my biggest worry was whether my Z Cavariccis would stay pegged.

Last week Steve and I went to see Kelly Clarkson at the Nokia Theater in Los Angeles. Orange County to LA rush hour traffic makes me a little cranky. Getting to the theater on an empty stomach and then being told they don’t serve nachos can make me get all Naomi Campbell on your ass! Let me preference this story by saying after fighting traffic, searching for parking and then adding a dry, stale hot pretzel for dinner to the mix, my head was spinning 360 degrees and it’s quite possible I was spitting green bile. Yep, this one’s going to be a venting session…

I’m no marketing expert, but I am a Ralphs Club Card carrying member. I endure all the custom advertising to the left of my Facebook page. I take note every time Target sends me a breast pump coupon after I purchase a baby shower gift. I am well aware that my buying habits are tracked daily. As a result, I am certain that Ticketmaster is clever enough to know that Kelly Clarkson fans are over 30, have jobs in the morning and value their sleep. So why can’t they relay this messaging to Miss Independent herself?? After listening to the very talented and funny Matt Nathanson for 45 minutes, there was a recess full length lunch hour of prep time before Kelly made her appearance. The 8pm show was actually a 9:30pm start time for the main attraction. Now I’m not one to brag, but I have been known to stay awake until 11pm on a Friday night. However this was a Tuesday night and on Tuesday my bedtime is set at 10pm. I still had a full hour drive back home in front of me!

This is in no way a critique of Kelly’s performance. She put on a fantastic show, was well worth the cost of the ticket and even brought out quite a few surprise celebrity guests (a perk to living near LA). I’m simply suggesting that those of us who are old enough to purchase our own tickets and have careers that require the use of a brain the following day start a petition demanding senior citizen (redefined as 30+) concert nights.

Last week I was in the doctor’s office for my annual exam. It had been a while since I originally filled out insurance and emergency contact information so the receptionist asked me to fill out new paperwork. I was happy to oblige and even happier to write 32 years old on the documents. 32 isn’t so bad. I have 3 years left before I hit that “mid 30’s” point. I walked into the room, stepped into my flowered paper gown (felt the cool breeze) and waited for the nurse. She walked in looking at my file and asked me to confirm my age. “32” I replied again. Geeze…how many times do I have to tell these people??. She cocked her head to the side, “Are you sure?” she asked. I quickly did the math (Dec 1977 minus Sep 2011). “33” I answered. Shoot. I just lost another year.

My husband turns the corner decked out in a button up, long sleeve, striped shirt and dark jeans. “You can’t wear that!” I announce. “It screams out that you’re a middle aged man!!” He gives me a glare that says I AM a middle age man, but it does him no good as I tell him to march back to the closet and change into baggier jeans and an old t-shirt. Preferably a Rage Against the Machine t-shirt if he has one. He doesn’t.

I myself have changed three times settling on what I think looks more “grunge.” I’m trying my hardest to look 15…17 at the absolute oldest. We’re going to see the Glee concert and I’ll just DIE if I don’t fit in. I’ll. Just. Die. I paint my eyes with florescent green eye shadow and slide purple tinted lipstick across my lips. I take one last look in the mirror and happily decide that I look like a teen who’s trying way too hard to look older so that she can order a wine cooler from the bar. Mission accomplished.

We’re off. Off to see the Glee cast perform live and I can hardly contain myself. Glee! One more check mark on the bucket list.

Parking at Honda Center is less of a nightmare than usual. We enter the center and head for the beer line. It’s short since the majority of the audience is well under 21. I order my beer and some nachos and head to the side counter to add jalapenos. Not only do they have jalapenos, they have sourkraut! I pile both on my chips with a huge smile on my face. This is shaping up to be a good night! A very good night indeed.

We find our seats and sit. 5 minutes later I spill beer on my lap. I frown, calculating that $2.00 of my $10.50 beer is now running down my thigh. Do I get up to dry off in the bathroom and risk missing the opening number? Oh hell no! I lay Steve’s sweatshirt across my lap and look around to see if anybody noticed. That’s when I realize, baggy jeans are no longer the teenage style. The boys are all decked in skinny jeans! Skinny jeans! I can’t believe it. I’m surrounded by population control…poor, poor testicles. They don’t stand a chance.

I realize that I’m not fooling anybody. I look like a girl who lacks bladder control, sitting next to the out of style old guy. I decide that I’m not going to make a fool out of myself tonight. I’m going to act my age.

The lights go down and the cast appears on stage. Lea Michele and Cory Monteith start belting out the first song. Nicole, hold it in…do not do it…act your age… “I LOVE YOU PUCKERMAN!!!” It pours out of my mouth like a broken faucet. I spend the next 10 minutes straight screaming. I turn to Steve. He’s slouched down in his chair embarrassed – a look that I’m used to seeing on his face. “I can’t help it.” I tell him. “I’m a 15 year old girl trapped in this 33 year old body!” Tomorrow I will scribble, “I heart Glee” all over my school binder.

I’m beginning to wonder if a day will come where I ever feel like a real adult. Yeah I have a career now. I wear a ring symbolizing forever. I pay a mortgage. I even mutter things like “Kids these days!” But there are still days where I devour Pixie Sticks until I become sick. To this day, there are moments when I drag my feet when walking and sit hunched. I still adore my daddy. I love to jump in puddles on cold and rainy days. Don’t I know that I could catch pneumonia like that?! So I wonder, does anybody ever feel like an adult inside at any age?

My body, on the other hand, is a completely different story. I’ve grown obsessed with the wrinkles around my eyes. Did my chin always have a Siamese twin? Why is there a container of Bengay in my cabinet and more importantly why is it half used? OMG…is that a stretch mark?!! How is it possible to have a post-baby bulge pre-baby?

I honestly do try to be one of those mature women full of self-confidence and pride in their age and life experience. “Its wonderful being 70!” they say. “All my life experience has brought wisdom.” Don’t they know that they are going to be dead soon?! (just kidding old people…calm down).

I guess I need a few more years under my belt before I acquire the wisdom that allows me to be comfortable with the gray strands. Until then, I am comforted by the fact that the girl under the wrinkles is forever young.